


Waltz in Tree

by metonymy



Category: Enchanted Forest Chronicles - Patricia Wrede
Genre: Dancing, Established Relationship, F/M, Magic, Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5439824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonymy/pseuds/metonymy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cimorene revives an old custom, has several not-quite-arguments, drinks cider, meets some new people, and finds herself enjoying something rather in spite of herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waltz in Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlexElizabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexElizabeth/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, AlexElizabeth!

"We ought to have a party."

Mendanbar's look of surprise was not often directed at Cimorene. Or at least it hadn't been Before. ("Before" was how Cimorene had started thinking of it, now that there was an "After." Before he'd been trapped. And now, gloriously, After he had been freed.) But he was staring at her, grey eyes curious and confused and his brow furrowed.

"A party," he said cautiously. 

"To give you a chance to see more of the forest's residents and catch up on what you've missed," she said. A subtle wince crossed Mendanbar's face, but Cimorene wasn't going to flinch away from it. Sixteen years was too long to pretend time hadn't passed. He hadn't just gotten lost while stepping out to attend to an infestation of nixies. They were going to face it head-on until the gap lost its power over both of them. Or Cimorene was going to face it head-on, which amounted to the same thing. 

"There was the victory feast," Mendanbar offered. Cimorene shook her head.

"Not everybody fought." And she didn't blame those who didn't. Not all creatures were meant for battle. Some chose to defend their children rather than sending their children into the vanguard against wizards and who knew what else. Cimorene shook her head a tiny bit to dismiss the thought, like an unwanted fly, and gave Mendanbar a smile. "Besides, Willin will love it."

Mendanbar groaned and leaned his forehead against the window, looking out over the trees. Which meant Cimorene had won the argument, even if he wasn't admitting it yet. "He'll love turning it into another endless parade of etiquette and rules and I'll be struggling not to fall asleep." 

Cimorene stepped over behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, kissing the back of his neck and tucking her chin onto his shoulder. "He won't. I'll make sure of it." She looked out past their reflections at the waving treetops, a few of them lightly touched with yellow. "Besides, I have a few ideas."

The Celebration of Colors was one of the many festive occasions that had fallen by the wayside when Mendanbar took the throne, and, what with all the bustle of the first year of their marriage and getting things sorted out with Kazul and setting up the anti-wizard spell, it hadn't been a top priority on anyone's list to bring it back. And then, of course, there were no grand occasions at all. It was a minor event, commemorating the change of the forest's leaves from innumerable shades of green to the scarlet, crimson, gold, butternut, fireglow, and rust that signaled the coming of autumn. And that, to Cimorene's mind, was what made it perfect. No great significance, no occult importance. Just an excuse for some long-dead monarch to show off their munificence and splendor. Which meant she could alter the occasion precisely as she liked.

Willin was less thrilled about this plan of Cimorene's. Not about having the Celebration of Colors at all. That delighted him. But when he appeared at her elbow just after lunch with a ledger and a long self-inking quill she began to have an uncomfortable sensation of foreboding. 

"Your Highness," he said, with more dignity than would normally be used to address someone in the midst of cleaning out a cauldron. Cimorene tipped the cauldron back onto its feet and looked at the elf. 

"Yes, Willin?" 

"We ought to begin discussing the order of ceremonies for the Celebration," he announced, opening the ledger to a page covered in tiny writing. Cimorene felt her stomach sink.

"Ceremonies?"

"Traditionally there are speeches from the royal family, a commemorative dance by the dryads, a presentation of the gifts of the harvest from representatives of the forest's denizens - though I believe that fell out of fashion after an unfortunate incident with a small bear and a little girl --"

"No," Cimorene interrupted. It was terribly rude, but Willin had a tendency to get caught in stories like this one. "My apologies, Willin, but I don't think we'll be needing all of those. Some food and drink, perhaps a little music for dancing."

Willin seemed to grow larger, like a cat puffing itself up before a fight. "But - Your Majesty, you asked to reinstate the Celebration of Colors, and these are all important parts of the proper order!"

Cimorene gestured with the scrubbing brush she was still holding. "Willin, I'm the Queen of the Enchanted Forest and I'm cleaning out a cauldron. Mendanbar dresses like a gardener. Daystar was raised in a cottage that would fit inside this kitchen, let alone the great hall. We've never been much concerned with what's proper." Privately she doubted any one of the royal family would be able to come up with a speech of more than about twenty-five words, but that was only a minor problem. 

Willin still looked dubious, and she relented a bit. "All I'm saying is that this party should show that things are back to normal and that we're all here and things are going back to normal."

"But fidelity to tradition would demonstrate that the rightful King has once again returned to his throne!"

Cimorene held back a sigh. "We can keep the dancing. I'm sure the dryads will be pleased to be invited. Now, if you'll excuse me…" She gestured with the scrubbing brush and Willin bowed, and if she found herself grumbling there was no one to hear it outside of the cauldron.

As it turned out, Willin wasn't entirely wrong about the planning for the party. A delegate had been sent to find the dryads, and she reported back that they had an exacting list of requirements and requests in order to make sure the dancing was executed precisely as it had been the last time the party was held. Trees had long memories, after all, especially in the Enchanted Forest. Cimorene refused to let this bother her, making sure the clearing they chose was of an agreeable size and did not host any unwanted creatures or fairy rings, seeking out the last remaining crafter who grew flutes and violins from specially charmed wood that would simply drop the instruments into his waiting hands, calling upon the Goldwing-Shadowmusic elves to seek out the musicians who knew the particular autumnal processional that the dryads would be dancing to. When invitations began to go out, there was a flurry of responses inquiring whether gifts should be brought that day or sent ahead. And Daystar came to Cimorene one afternoon looking a bit pale and asked if he would be required to make a speech.

"Whatever put that idea in your head?" Cimorene asked, looking up from the list she was making of the refreshments that would be offered. Feeding all the humans and elves who planned to attend was one thing, but there would be quite a few dragons, some talking animals, and of course the dryads appeared to mostly eat bowls of fresh compost with grass clippings, which meant talking to the gardener rather than the cooks. But that was for the party, and Daystar was standing in front of her right now, and for all that he had gone on a quest and saved his father there were moments when he still seemed very much a child to Cimorene. Perhaps that was just because she was his mother. 

He fidgeted. "I was in the study yesterday using the magic mirror to talk to Telemain - he had some questions about the Sword he wanted me to answer, he's writing a paper about the - anyway. The gargoyle said it was a shame that we were having another party out of doors but if I wanted to give him my speech before we left he'd tell me how terrible it was." Daystar gave his mother an imploring look. "It wouldn't be rude if I didn't, would it?"

Cimorene entertained a brief fantasy of moving the gargoyle somewhere quieter and less trafficked. Like perhaps the top of the southeast tower, or maybe the wine cellar. But the look she gave Daystar was more reassuring and less vengeful. "Daystar, did I ever tell you that you were going to be giving a speech at the Celebration? Or your father?"

Daystar swallowed. "Well, no," he said. "But… I assumed…"

"You should know by now, Daystar, never assume. Always ask. So long as you do so politely, it never hurts to be direct and make sure." Not precisely how Cimorene had been raised, but she'd vowed when Daystar had been born to make sure he was a sensible child. 

Looking as if he had been floundering in water and finally stood on solid ground, Daystar gave her a shy smile. "Mother, do you want me to give a speech at the Celebration of Colors?" he asked.

"No, Daystar," Cimorene answered, and his smile grew warmer. He really did look strikingly like his father, she reflected. "But you can do me another favor, if you have the time." She produced an envelope and handed it to him, the scarlet ribbons trailing from the seal. "I haven't sent Kazul's invitation yet since I know she was visiting her great-grandchildren last week. Would you be so good as to take it to her?" 

Daystar's eyes lit up. "Of course, Mother. I'll set out at once." 

"Very well," Cimorene said. "And please, give Shiara my best." Her son blushed and Cimorene hid a smile. Then she went back to figuring out how she was going to feed everyone, and how to ensure the dryads would accept an audience including at least one dragon without panicking about being burned to ashes. 

"I don't know what you expected," Morwen said a few days later, when Cimorene had managed to steal away for a visit. "Remember how much trouble you had planning your wedding?"

Cimorene frowned into her mug of cider. "That was different. It was larger, for one thing. And it was a state occasion."

"Smaller doesn't always mean simpler," Morwen observed, stirring her own cup of tea and setting it down. "Besides, I seem to remember Mendanbar saying something about eloping, which would have saved both of you a lot of trouble. Not to mention most of the residents of the forest." 

"That reminds me," Cimorene said, giving Morwen a meaningful look. "Didn't I hear something about an engagement? You two aren't planning on running off without telling anyone, are you?"

Morwen gave Cimorene a look that was extremely unamused. "It took us almost twenty years to even agree to get married. We're not eloping. Besides, I still have to reconcile the cats to the idea." The kitchen was curiously free of small furry bodies, for that matter. "And we have to decide where to live. Telemain says he'd need to add on to my house if he's to live here, and I can't abide by those staircases of his." She shrugged, stirring her tea again. "I won't run off without at least sending you a note first."

That, Cimorene decided, was probably a very dry sort of joke, and rather than prying she sipped her cider. Prying would have been rude. And the cider was very good. "That should give me time to come up with an appropriate wedding present, at least." 

Morwen's lips twitched into a very small smile. They talked about Daystar and Mendanbar and the recent influx of newcomers to the Enchanted Forest now that the king had returned, and not at all about the wedding, and by the end of the conversation she had agreed to supply her cider for the party. (The dryads probably wouldn't object to it, since Morwen tended her own apple trees with great care, and the trees practically dropped the apples in her lap out of gratitude.) Frankly, Cimorene was grateful for the offer. She would have offered to help with the wedding plans, but Morwen was so deeply private that it would have been impolite. 

Besides, Cimorene found herself thoroughly preoccupied with the last touches of the planning for the Celebration. The castle didn't need to be cleaned but the chosen clearing did need to be examined for any enchanted or ensorcelled beings. Cimorene had wanted to keep Mendanbar unbothered by the planning, but she did require his assistance to make sure the clearing stayed put. It was a good chance for Daystar to learn how to do it, he said, and the evening when they came home with equally tired yet proud expressions was one Cimorene was going to treasure for a long time. Kazul sent her regrets, which was disappointing, but Daystar's barely repressed smiles indicated that Shiara would be attending as a representative. The elven musicians had to confer with the dryads about the accompaniment to the dance, then with Cimorene about whether there should be music for the rest of the Celebration. She sent scores of letters and went on a dozen last-minute visits and errands and did her best to keep Willin from working himself into a tizzy.

Time seemed to pass both too swiftly and in the slowest way possible, but the day of the Celebration of Colors arrived at last. The sky was an especially vivid azure, the moss of the forest floor remained springy and green, and the firmly rooted trees around them had shed their emerald brilliance for all the hues of autumn. A faint chill in the air allowed guests wear their finery without sweating; it was not yet so cold that the talking animals were hibernating, nor the trees bare of their leaves. Tables at the side of the clearing were laden with food, from tarts and cakes and sweet rolls to surprisingly dainty mud pies and compost-and-grass-clipping trifles - those last ones were downwind of the others, of course. The royal family took their seats on a low dais at one side of the clearing, Cimorene on Mendanbar's right hand and Daystar at his left.

As the sun reached the highest point overhead, there was a susurrus in the leaves of the trees around the clearing. The shadows between the trees began to move - no, the trees were moving - no, the dryads had appeared. Some were slender and tall, others rounder and thicker, all of them clad in strange garments and bedecked with leaves and woven braids of grasses. One of them had cobwebs spangled with dew in its hair. Another had a bird's nest perched atop its head like a very small and haphazard hat. And all of them had eyes that were dark and deep and strange. 

The dryads arranged themselves outside the crowd of people and animals and turned towards the dais. So did everyone else. Cimorene looked at her husband and he rose from the simple chair that served for today's throne.

And as Mendanbar spoke - brief words about how good it was to see this Celebration once again - Cimorene looked out at the crowd and knew that she had been right. The faces looking back at him were united in their pleasure. Some were familiar friends that had supported the King and the dragons in the very first battle; some had been born or come to the forest afterwards; some had fought in the final battle when the wizards had been defeated; some had avoided the fight. But they all seemed relieved to have Mendanbar back, even if he wasn't the most traditional of rulers of the Enchanted Forest. On his other side, Daystar's face shone with a mixture of emotions Cimorene couldn't hope to name; she imagined something similar was on her own face.

Mendanbar finished speaking. A polite smatter of applause barely broke the silence before the crowd scattered to the tables, collecting food and drink. The band of elvish musicians struck up a light, familiar tune, and Mendanbar sat down.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Cimorene asked. Mendanbar's smile was wry, but Daystar answered before he could speak.

"I thought it was great, Father."

"Thank you, Daystar," Mendanbar said, nodding to his son. A page came up with some drinks and food for them all; though Cimorene would gladly have gotten her own food, it was also nice to eat and watch the crowds mingle, and easier for everyone who wanted to say hello to come to the dais rather than form a tangled knot around the royal family. Morwen and Telemain came by for a chat, and Shiara managed a very nice curtsey to the king before falling into a deep conversation with Daystar. 

A chime rang out. With whispers and murmurings, the guests moved to the sides of the clearing, and the dryads formed a ring in the center. It grew very quiet.

The dryads moved with a slow and easy elegance, limbs bending smoothly as if stirred by an unseen wind. Their leaves rustled in counterpoint to the sound of the music being played. A flute trilled like the ripples of wind over the surface of a stream.

And then there was the beat of a drum - or perhaps it was their own heartbeats, or the pulse of the sap in the trees around them thrumming to the same rhythm as the music. The dryads began to step faster, weaving their arms together and then apart, their feet thumping into the moss of the clearing to the same beat. One of the smallest dryads split off and came to Cimorene, beckoning with twigged fingers, hair-leaves the same crimson as Cimorene's dress. The dryad smiled in invitation.

Cimorene had always hated dancing. Back in Linderwall it had just been one more endless series of lessons to absorb without any original thought. The dances had all been slow, ponderous, regimented routines, with patterns of steps to memorize and no room for originality. It had the slight advantage of not requiring her to sit still, but only being able to move when it was her turn was somehow even more frustrating. That was why she had sought out the fencing master for lessons. Fencing had its own rules, but there was a point to it. One learned all the thrusts and parries and ripostes not to impress a prince but to defend oneself and theoretically to win a fight. She'd barely even danced at her own wedding.

But this was different. This music spoke of joy, of movement because it was the purest way to express delight, and the dryads' spinning and leaps bore little resemblance to the gavottes of her childhood. Besides, she was being invited, and it would have been rude to refuse out of spite. Cimorene glanced at Mendanbar and stood, taking the dryad's hands and letting herself be pulled into the ring. 

Immediately she was drawn into the whirl of the dance, warm and rough fingers clasping her own, her feet pounding the moss of the forest floor along with the beat. The flute skirled above the thrumming drums, the fiddles' voices swirling among them all like the breeze. Cimorene saw every color of red and gold, crimson and bronze, copper and auburn and rust and flame, the dryads' barklike skin every color from paper-white birch to the deep gray-brown of the maples, their faces blurring against the trees around the clearing. She let herself be led through the patterns, weaving through the lines of dryads, spinning in circles within circles. It was like the first time she'd flown with Kazul. It was like the first time Mendanbar had taken her in his arms and kissed her. It was like - it was like dancing was meant to be, before people had decided to weigh it down with rules and restrictions. It was amazing.

Cimorene spun faster and faster, passing from dryad to dryad, their eyes bright and their faces merry, and then she was being held by a pair of arms that were smoother and warmer and looking into eyes of stormy grey. Mendanbar lifted Cimorene as if she weighed nothing, her skirts flaring out as he spun her up and around before setting her lightly down on the ground. Around them the dance slowed from a frantic pace to a calmer rhythm and Cimorene did her best to catch her breath. Fencing lessons with Daystar and the work to keep their cottage in order wasn't the same as this sort of exertion.

Mendanbar wove through the dancers as if he knew their steps by heart, leading Cimorene through a gap between two pirouetting dryads and into the shade of an oak. He lifted a tendril of hair from where it had stuck to her face and tucked it back into the braid running over her ear. 

"I thought you hated dancing," he mused, fingers still lingering on her cheek. Cimorene looked back at him with a racing pulse and grinned, tugging him closer by the front of his waistcoat for a kiss.

"I think I could learn to like it," she said when they broke apart for breath. "If it was more like this." 

She knew she should have gone back, joined the crowds watching the dance, checked the supplies of food and drink, made sure the celebration proceeded smoothly. But with Mendanbar's heart beating strong beneath her fingers and his eyes warm on hers, the decision was easy. Besides, no one could begrudge the King and Queen of the Enchanted Forest another chance at true love's kiss.


End file.
